


Hell No

by PencilTrash



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Victor is Yuri's Brother, Yuri-Otabek Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilTrash/pseuds/PencilTrash
Summary: "Katsudon is Viktor’s soulmate."“No, no, no, no, no. Take a deep breath. Calm down. You can handle this maturely and not like some sixteen year old with haywire hormones.”“Goddamn Katsudon is Viktor’s fucking soulmate.”Yuri snapped the pencil in his hand, or at least tried to.Something had definitely been fucked up by someone, probably God, and Yuri was going to fix it.[Would you tell anyone when you accidentally learn that the person you adore the most and the person you hate the most are actually soulmates? Hell no! --- a novel by Yuri Plisetsky]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> * Thank you [Jonjo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonjo) for the beta work. You are amazing! <3  
> 

Yuri pulled his knees to his chest, enjoying the cool breeze as he watched the colors spread around the setting Sun from his window. He shoved his cold fingers into his leopard print jacket which Viktor had gifted him on his birthday not four months ago.

Viktor Nikiforov was a cousin from long lost deceased relatives, who his kind hearted grandpa had taken under his wing. Viktor had been living with them for almost two decades, that is, even before Yuri was born. What could you say, his grandpa had a soft spot for strays and that included Yuri himself.

Since then, Yuri looked up to Viktor in all possible ways.

Viktor was a living legend, a winner of five consecutive World Championships. But for Yuri, he was just his big brother who usually forgot his birthday and loved wearing trench coats.

It was easy to find company in your super-cool teen cousin when things were getting a bit tough for you. Yuri never managed to make friends, thanks to his infamous arrogant, angry nature. Well that and his excruciatingly long hours of training and a strict routine, he hardly had time to make any and Yuri had no regrets whatsoever.

Viktor’s presence made his life tolerable.

It felt nice to have someone around to talk to, someone a little closer to your age than your grandfather or your skating coach. It was while watching Viktor that Yuri had declared his true love for figure skating, when he’d barely started talking.  

Yuri had hero worshiped Viktor for as long as he could recollect. So much so that he'd tried to copy every aspect of his cousin's demeanor right from his _Don’t listen to anyone, be unpredictable_ motto to growing his blonde locks to match Viktor’s once-long silky silver hair. He’d hated it when Viktor had cut it short.

It’d been eight months since Viktor had abruptly retired from competitive skating and left for St. Petersburg to set up his own training institute. It was his dream.

Yuri was upset, angry even. Why would someone quit at the peak of their career, it was beyond Yuri’s imagination. He wanted to join Viktor the moment the premises had been set up, but it was still new and barely ready and Viktor was totally against the thought of Yuri losing any time while he was so close to his senior debut.

Viktor visited them regularly though. They spent time together when Viktor dropped by on major holidays or to attend Yuri’s state level competitions or to check on their grandpa's health. But after Viktor left, Yuri had never felt so lonely in his whole life, he missed his brother.

A soft ding of his phone broke his chain of thought.

 **_Otabek_ ** _: u cmg for practice today??_

Yuri sighed at the text message, checked the clock on the wall. **6:30 PM** , it blinked back at him.

He knew Otabek would have finished his routine by now. It’d always amused him that no matter how busy Otabek was, he’d always spared enough time to help Yuri practice or to give suggestions on his music piece and sometimes, pack him a bag of fried pirozhki when Yuri was buried neck deep in his training schedule.

Yuri didn’t mind it though, Otabek Altin was a stoic type and didn’t look much bothered by Yuri’s always-angry nature. Were they friends? Well, Yuri wasn’t sure, but it was nice to have someone to keep a track of your training classes and send a simple text message. It didn’t hurt.

Yuri tapped his reply.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _Viktor’s cmg home today._

And since when had he started sharing details of life with someone. Yuri Plisetsky never shared. But talking to Otabek was… easy.

 **_Otabek:_  ** _The favorite bro! Is he in?_

Yuri liked that Otabek didn’t coo over Viktor’s name, the way everyone usually did. He liked that Otabek preferred addressing Viktor as his _favorite_ _bro_ than some living legend.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _NO. HE’ NOT. MY ASS’ ON FIRE SITTING HERE. WAITING_

He didn’t receive reply immediately. Yuri blinked at his message again, wondering what was taking Otabek so long. He jumped at a sudden coughing of a car engine from outside.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _He’s here. FINALLY. TTYL_

He didn’t wait for Otabek’s reply, springing to his feet, he dashed towards the door. He skidded to a halt, suddenly realizing he was being overdramatic, literally bouncing on his heels to see his cousin. Ugh, he lingered at the door for a moment or two till the bell finally rang.

“Hey Kitten!” Viktor beamed at him the moment Yuri opened the door. He flicked his bangs off of his forehead and barged forward, throwing his arms around Yuri’s neck and wrapped him in a bone crushing hug. “Missed you, lil’ bro,” he muttered into his shoulder. Viktor was really such a puppy.

“Yeah,” Yuri awkwardly patted his back, squirming on the spot. “C’mon,” he groaned. “Are you trying to choke me to death?"

Viktor took a step back and smiled at him, hands still holding Yuri’s arms. “I know you missed me too. Grandpa told me you cried when I didn’t show up for your last competition.”

“I-” Yuri choked. “I did not,” he tried to retort. He shot a glare at his grandfather, who just shrugged in response, shaking, as if barely holding his laughter in. Yuri knew he wouldn’t be able to fight them both. “Let’s go inside. I’m hungry.” he declared, turning his back on them as he marched inside the house.

 

******

 

“How have you been? Seriously, tell me.” Viktor took a seat on the desk chair where Yuri had been scanning through videos of other skaters, mainly Victor’s, mentally taking a note of their techniques.

“Um, I'm fine,” Yuri replied, without taking his eyes off his laptop.

“How’s your training going?”

“Hmm, alright.”

“Oh, you have grown your hair quite nicely this time.”

“Uh-huh.”

Viktor shut his laptop.

“What?!” Yuri protested, looking at Victor with wide eyes.

“Yuri, I’m home after four months and- _Get up_ ,” Viktor ordered, almost manhandling him so he flopped down on the floor, making him face the dressing table.

“What are you doing?” Yuri complained, exasperated, but settled near Viktor’s feet anyway.

“I know a nice hair style, a fishtail braid,” Viktor carded his fingers through Yuri’s hair, spreading it nicely on his back. “It’ll suit you. Try it.”

Yuri huffed in defeat, folding his legs in a comfortable position. He knew Viktor’s braids usually took time. He’d grown up watching Viktor stand in front of the mirror and try different hair styles, _for hours_.

Yuri could see his reflection in the mirror as Viktor creased his eyebrows and focussed on the job in hand, twirling and twisting the locks of Yuri’s hair with swift movements of his fingers, lips curving in a fond smile. If the tugs hurt a little, Yuri didn’t say a word. He just let out a long suffering sigh.

Viktor was wearing his black sweatpants, Yuri noticed, and only them, his chest bare. It was the one thing that Yuri couldn’t exactly copy from Viktor. He was still uncomfortable flashing his skin… his soulmark.

His eyes flicked to Viktor’s soulmark, right over his heart, looking distinct and beautiful against the contrast of his pale skin.

It was a snowflake, a ice crystal, displaying a delicate sixfold symmetry. Yuri loved Viktor’s soulmark, after all he loved ice. It was a hundred times better than his own soulmark which pretty much looked like Pikachu, the pokemon, sitting right on his left shoulder, mocking him everyday.

He hated his soulmark.

He wondered how his soulmate must be feeling, carrying this gross, matching mark their whole life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter on the same day. Yay!!

******_Otabek:_ ** _r u ditching classes again? Not Good_

Yuri scowled at his cellphone.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _I’m late_

 **_Otabek:_ ** _Oh. Already left the studio_

 **_Yuri_ ** _: GOOD BYE_

Yuri clenched the phone in his hand and shoved it in his pocket, suddenly feeling irritated by this simple exchange. It’d been two days since he’d seen Otabek. He could have just waited for a half hour more and no - Yuri wasn’t missing him, absolutely not.

Yuri increased his pace as he strode through the empty corridors of the dance institute. Victor was home and he’d got carried away talking to him, losing track of time when Viktor animatedly described his plans for his new institution with twinkling, blue eyes and now, he was late for his ballet practice. Perfect.

Yuri was struggling with his postures and his dear coach, Yakov, had been screaming for days for him to get it fixed with his ballet instructor. As he dashed past the rooms, he worried he’d get yelled at by Lilia in front of everyone, again. At least, he’d managed to book his favorite room which was the only plus in all this mess.

The room was small but Yuri never liked to practice in groups. The size made it more effective when he played his music loud and used every inch of his body, losing himself to its harmonious melody. Hoping if he did get scolded, it would be in private.

He froze at hearing the familiar, visceral tune.

Of course, it was coming from the room, the room which he’d already booked. And he knew who the culprit was.

He kicked the studio door open. “Moron!” he yelled, fuming.

A young man was standing completely still inside the room, his leg still high in the air as if he was interrupted right in the middle of a jump. He gaped at Yuri, brown eyes blinking, mouth wide open.

Yuri deepened his scowl and the man scrambled to the corner of the room to cut his music off.

It was Yuuri Katsuki, a new joinee from Japan, who constantly ate katsudon.

The guy was way too sweet spoken to suit Yuri’s taste and had already managed to make friends with a bunch of his fellow skaters, definitely more than Yuri had managed in _years_. He was clearly challenging his position of Yakov’s favorite and was everywhere Yuri turned - his skating institution, ballet lessons, at all his favorite snack stores - everywhere.

And he shared his fucking name.

“Sorry, um… I, uh, didn’t mean to bother you, Yurio.” And - he’d used that goddamn nickname, again.

Yuri hated this guy.

He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes. The idiot was apologizing, without even knowing the reason, when Yuri was the one who had interrupted his practice. That irritated him even more. He wanted to scream at him, but couldn’t even utter his name because then, he’d be insulting himself. Ugh, it was tricky.

“Get the hell out of this room,” Yuri barked and Katsudon staggered to get his belongings packed, stuffing them inside his duffel bag in a rush and barged out of the room.

 

******

 

Yuri zipped up his black hoodie, flinging his backpack over his shoulder. He knew he was sweating badly, but he hated hitting the showers in the common locker rooms.

He was walking down the corridors, enjoying the gentle squeaks of his sneakers that echoed in the deserted hallway, when he heard the same music coming from one of the other rooms.

Katsudon was still practicing.

He tightened his grip over his bag straps and strode forward quietly, planning to slip away without getting noticed.

“Hey Yurio, have you finished your practice?”

Of course, Yuri wasn’t that lucky.

He paused in his tracks. “Do you see me dancing?” he snapped, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his legs, hands folded over his chest. At least, the music was good.

“Can you please help me with stretching?” Yuri frowned at that request. No matter how Yuri reacted to him, the man seemed completely unfazed by his attitude, always poking him for one reason or the other. “Usually Phichit helps me with this,” Katsudon continued, as Yuri was still glaring at him. “But today he left early.”

Yuri didn’t reply, but he unfolded his limbs, standing straight, his eyebrows still creased. Katsudon grinned at him, all teeth. “Thank you so much.”

“Make it quick. I’m late,” Yuri grunted, trying hard to keep frowning.

He dropped his backpack on the nearby bench and strolled in the man’s general direction. Katsudon was already griping at the metal bar, stretching his leg, pointing his toes to the ceiling. He looked tired, already drained from an hour long practice.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” Yuri wrinkled his nose, hands paused in the air, without touching.

“Oh.” Katsudon loosened his stance immediately, face flushing deep pink in embarrassment. He headed for his bag, rummaging inside. “I must be stinking, right?” He wiped his face with a towel and grabbed an extra t-shirt from the bag. “I know I’ve overdone it today. But… but can’t get this jump. I’ve tried it so many times. Yakov’s asked me to practice it more, but you know how tough Yakov could be.” He was rambling again.

Yuri rolled his eyes and waited very _very_ patiently for the man to change out of his sweaty t-shirt. He seriously didn’t have time for this shit. Why did he even agree to help, he was late. He was supposed to be heading to dinner with grandpa and Vik -

His eyes bulged wide.

Was that - _fuck_ , yes, it was. It was the goddamn snowflake, sitting right over the man’s heart.

He gaped at the mark, suddenly forgetting how to react. His brain felt numb from the unexpected shock.

“I, uh… I need to go,” Yuri muttered, voice lower than a whisper. He tore his eyes away from the beautiful and way too familiar soulmark.

Viktor’s soulmark.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I stink so much. I can-”

Yuri didn’t stop to hear the man. When he barged out of the studio, he was shaking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has received 100+ subscriptions after posting the first two chapters on day one. A huge thank you to everyone who has subscribed, left kudos, bookmarked or commented on this story. It’s really great motivation <333

Yuri called off their dinner, giving the fake excuse that he had a headache. He knew he wouldn’t be able to survive a _happy family dinner_ with Viktor sitting right there in front of his face, smiling. Katsudon had ruined everything.

"Katsudon is Viktor’s soulmate."

“No, no, no, no, no. Take a deep breath. Calm down. You can handle this maturely and not like some fifteen year old with haywire hormones.”

 _“Goddamn Katsudon is Viktor’s fucking soulmate.”_ He snapped the pencil in his hand, or at least tried to.

Katsudon, who had zillions of self esteem issues and couldn't speak a single sentence without stuttering in interviews. He was prone to accidents and had smacked his head on multiple occasions, ending up with concussions and yucky nosebleeds. He _cried_ when fans offered him those stupid flower crowns and his so called deodorant smelled no better than farts. He danced like a baby giraffe at the banquet. He couldn't even hold his champagne and had puked on Yuri’s brand new Testoni shoes. And, he wore those silly half framed, blue glasses - Okay, the glasses were kind of cool, but that was beside the point.

There was no way some Katsudon could be Viktor’s soulmate, hell no, because Viktor was sunshine with all his gorgeous rock star charisma. He was calm and level-headed even when he was losing his shit. He was the media’s favorite and fans were crazy about him. He'd a whole damn cupboard stuffed with fan letters, cards, poodle plushies and all kinds of other cute things which made Yuri cringe whenever he passed the room. Well, Viktor flirted a little and was forgetful, but other than that, his brother was _perfect_.

So, something had definitely been fucked up by someone, probably God and Yuri was going to fix it.

And, Yuri was mumbling this monologue out loud. Perfect.

He was freaking out and desperately needed to escape. He marched towards his bed, fighting with the tangled mess of his comforter and bed sheet to grab his cellphone and started hitting its keypad as if wanting to poke holes into it.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _What the hell are soulmates??_

He paced the length of his room for a good five minutes, before his cell finally dinged with an incoming reply.

 **_Otabek:_ ** _Why?_

“This isn't the time for being curious, Beka,” Yuri grumbled at his screen. By now, he was bouncing on his heels, the pressure of the secret was creeping into his nerves.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _Nothing. Just askin_

 **_Otabek:_ ** _Why??_

“What?!” Otabek never acted this tough, or was it the topic of soulmates that was making him react so unusually. He was the silent type with those sharp, intelligent, brown eyes which matched well with his rad undercut and his sturdy, leather-jacket persona - Okay _focus_.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _TELL ME._

They had never actually spoken about soulmates, he realized. The topic was way boring and seemed a bit personal.

 **_Otabek_ ** _: Ok ok. Now stop bouncing on your feet._

Yuri halted his legs on the spot, he hadn’t even realized they were moving. He snapped his head up, looking around the room, checking if Otabek was hiding somewhere.

 **_Otabek_ ** _: You do that when you're nervous and… Hiding something_

God, either Yuri was stupidly predictable or he was spending too much time with Otabek outside their designated training hours.

Before he could think of replying with something snarky, he noticed a small indicator that denoted Otabek had started typing. Yuri let out a heavy sigh, relieved that he’d got Otabek to bombard him with his vague queries.

The screen still displayed - _Otabek typing…_

Yuri’s eyes hovered over his room, lingering on his Junior Grand Prix medals, one silver and two shining gold, before moving back to his cell phone again.

_Otabek typing…_

**_Yuri:_ ** _R U FUCKING WRITING AN ESSAY?????_

_Otabek typing…_

Jesus Christ!

Finally, there was a loud ding, which had never sounded so enticing.

 **_Otabek:_ ** _Soulmates share a bond and both have the exact same mark - soulmark - in the exact same spot, as if someone had decided that the pair should meet each other and fall in love easily. Your soulmate is your one true love._

Wow, that sounded beautiful. But, ha! One true love my ass.

 **_Yuri_ ** _: Can it break?_

 **_Otabek:_ ** _No, it's a soulbond and why would someone want to break a soulbond?_

Yes, Yuri was really hoping that the bond was just a cliched myth, because Yuri was evil. Or, he cared about his brother, a lot, and wanted to give him a chance to try and find someone… better. After all, there were thousands of people around who didn't have a soulmark and the majority of them lived their lives quite happily-ever-after without a soulmate.

 **_Yuri:_ ** _Soulmates ain't real_

 **_Otabek:_ ** _Yes they are. They may not be perfect as individuals, but they're PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER._

And, Otabek was using capitals. He rarely did that.

 **_Otabek_ ** _: In fact the Universe helps them to be together no matter what_

Okay, that was a new piece of information.

So, this was his war against the whole Universe and Yuri was so damn ready for it. At least, since Viktor had retired and moved to another state, there wasn't any way that he'd meet his soulmate.

He sent a quick _Thank you_ to Otabek and almost hit a heart sign, which he deleted immediately, and sent a _thumbs up_ instead.

Then, he swiped through his screens, checking updates on IG and when finally sleep started overpowering him, he uploaded the selfie of him and Viktor in their pajama pants and messy bed hair. He hashtagged it as _#bro_.

He knew the internet would crash tomorrow.

 

******

 

The next morning Yuri woke up to the scent of his favorite coffee. He stretched his lazy body, poking his nose up to catch the fresh, sweet aroma, eyes still heavy from his unfinished sleep.

“Good morning, bro.” Victor was beaming at him, all set for their morning jog in his fitted blue t-shirt and track pants, and a steaming mug in his hand.

His brother might have fed him burnt French toast for years, spoiling the world's easiest breakfast as badly as he could, but he made coffee just right - hot and tangy with subtle hints of citrus and rich with caramel, and, God, he missed it so much.

“Gimme that,” Yuri made grabby hands, snatching the mug out of Viktor’s hand.

Viktor laughed, plopping down on the bed, hand raised to Yuri’s head to check his temperature. “How's your headache?” he asked, the lines of his smile flattening with concern.

Yeah, right. Yuri was supposed to be sick, he slumped his shoulders, pouting his lips in best possible _sick_ expression.

“I, uh, it's better now.” Yuri muttered, focusing on the mug he held to avoid meeting Viktor’s eyes. “I'm, um, sorry… I cancelled our dinner last night,” he blurted out the heavy words. Why were apologies so damn hard for him? “Can we do it today instead?”

Viktor didn't reply and kept staring at him with his blue piercing gaze like he wanted to search Yuri’s soul. “Amazing,” he chirped after a long pause. “Now get ready and join me for our good ol’ Sunday morning run.”

“But I need to -”

 _“Hey Yurochka.”_ His retort was cut in by his grandpa's sudden call from the hallway somewhere. “Your friend’s at the door.”

 _What? “_ I don't have a friend,” was Yuri’s immediate retort.

“Aw, don't say that, kiddo,” his grandfather peeked in from the door, smiling at him with his kind eyes. “Sure you do and one of them is waiting right outside.”

Yuri pinched his eyebrows, taking in big sips from the coffee mug. “Who's it?” he growled.

“It's the other Yuuri… Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuri sputtered his coffee out, choking and coughing. His eyes blown wide, flitting between his brother and grandpa, desperately begging that he'd heard it wrong.

Viktor made the first move. He turned around on his heels, heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?!” Yuri dumped his mug on the nightstand, jumping off of his bed, almost tripping over his comforter.

“To my room.” Oh my God, and Viktor was walking outside. This was not happening. Absolutely no. Viktor looked over his shoulder, shooting him a wink. “I need to pee.”

“No, you can't,” Yuri squawked, voice screeching more than required. He barged forward, blocking Viktor’s way out, his back plastered to the door, chest heaving.

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“I mean… Pee in here,” Yuri slipped out, closing the door as he strode his way out of the room, making sure Viktor was backing off. He opened it again. “... And stay right here.” Yuri commanded, pointing his index finger in Viktor’s direction.

“Whoa, alright,” Viktor raised his both hands in surrender. “You're so moody sometimes.”

Yuri didn't wait to answer, dashing outside, banging the door closed behind him.

 

******

 

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

“I just wanted-”

“How the hell did you got my address?”

“Uh, I asked-”

“D’you think you can win?”

“Huh?”

Yuri’s each advance made Katsudon take a step back. He easily towered over the man, even though Yuri was the shorter of the two. He was barking his words out, hands on his hips, looking as intimidating as he could with his short, slender physique.

“Are you gonna remove your shirt now?”

“What? No!” Katsudon backed off significantly, almost outside the door.

“Yes you will,” Yuri followed him. “And you'll flash that shitty… _shit_ at my face again.”

“No, I, don't-”

“Oh yes you do. You think you're perfect.”

“Well, actually-”

“You think you're a part of some mojo pair. And… and… you're the goddamn _one true love._ ”

“Um,” Katsudon squinted his eyes. “I'm not exactly sure I’m getting what you're talking about. Have you seen some crappy movie?” he asked, face crumpled in concern, looking anything but intimidated. That made Yuri even more pissed.

“I don't watch fucking movies.”

“Then maybe some bad dream, eh?”

“I don't _fucking_ dream.”

“Alright. You probably shouldn't use so many curse words.”

 _“Fuck off.”_ Yuri growled.

“O-kay. Fair enough. I’m not your mom.” Katsudon pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He held his bag in between them, probably like a shield, blinking at Yuri, his mouth gaping like a fish.

“What are you looking at, huh?” Yuri snarled at his face. “Say something, damn it!”

Katsudon raised the backpack in front of Yuri’s nose. “Your bag.”

Yuri took a step back, getting a better look at the bag for the first time. A leopard print bag.

Oh…

It was Yuri’s bag, which he must have left in the studio after his encounter with Katsudon. He was so taken aback by the incident that he hadn’t even realized it until now. And, Katsudon had come to return his backpack. He’d taken efforts to hunt down his address from someone and he’d come all the way here to return Yuri’s damn bag. And why was it sounding so fucking… nice.

A soft whistle broke his internal turmoil.

He snapped his head around, only to find Viktor standing in the living room, leaning against the wall, a curious smile on his face, eyes fixed somewhere behind Yuri’s back… on Katsudon.

Yuri twirled around and snatched the bag from Katsudon’s hands. “Okay. Thank you very much, b’bye,” he declared, banging the door in his face.

“Ouch, that was rude,” Viktor commented, wincing a little as if coming out from his trance. “Who was that?”

Yuri glared at him. “No one,” he grumbled before dragging his feet back to his room.

The war was barely on and he was already feeling like he'd lost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both pairs are going to meet face-to-face. Finally!

****Yuri’s eyes hovered over the gigantic mess that the kitchen had turned into. His grandpa needed a break from his daily cooking duties and since Viktor was a terrible cook - even more terrible than Yuri - it got automatically transferred onto Yuri’s dependable shoulders.

Yuri could cook, decently in fact. He'd cooked scrambled eggs, cheesy sandwiches which he stuffed with whatever was available in their fridge. He even made basic pancakes to a certain edible extent, but today, he'd decided to try his hand at Pirozhki because his brain was frying from the soulmates shit and he wanted to cool it off by eating his favorite dish.

He looked at the bowl full of brown-golden Pirozhki, feeling contented and proud. He clicked a quick selfie with it and scrolled through his contacts before sending it to Otabek.

He didn’t have to wait long before his phone flashed with replies.

 **_Otabek_ ** _: Pirozhki are looking great. Pack some for me_

 **_Otabek_ ** _: Btw you’ve got flour on your nose_

Yuri’s lips twitched in a soft smile. He touched the tip of his nose, swiping the powder off of it, amused that Otabek observed such tiny things about him.

He blinked his eyes away from the screen. His heart sank to his stomach as he took in the sight of the heap of bowls and spoons that were waiting in the sink. He knew Viktor was going to kick his ass, as he was on cleaning duty. Yuri picked the last Piroshok from the skillet, turning the gas off. He strolled outside where the other two were sitting at the dining table, a bowl of freshly fried pirozhki balanced in one hand.

He loosened the knots of his apron, settling the bowl on the table and carefully observed reactions from others.

As soon as he dropped down on the chair, feeling drained from the two hours of hard work in the kitchen, Dima - his cat  - strolled straight to him. She flopped onto his lap, nuzzling her head to his stomach, indicating that she missed him. His hand automatically stroked through her soft, thick fur, proceeding to scratch behind her ear which was hands down Dima’s favorite spot. As expected, she purred in response. But wait - her plate was still lying on the table, untouched.

He raised his gaze to where his grandpa and Viktor were sitting. They both smiled at him, open and appreciating, which was a good sign, right?

“How are they?” he asked, before grabbing two… four pieces into his plate.

“... They’re, uh, great,” Viktor replied in between bites, a spasm of pain contorting his face, clearly having a hard time swallowing.

“Ow,” his grandfather wailed in response, hand raised to cup his jaw.

“Are you alright?”

“I think I broke my teeth.”

Yuri jumped from his seat. “What?!”

“Relax,” His grandpa started laughing, patting on his shoulder, shoving him back in his seat. “I was kidding.”

Viktor joined the older man. “That was good one, ‘pa.” They hi fived across the table, teasing Yuri in unison. It'd been always their favorite passtime.

Yuri narrowed his eyes, glaring at them, and grudgingly took his first bite. He knew they were exaggerating, even Dima. It couldn’t be that bad.

It was disgusting. His tongue twisted with the acrid taste of extra salt and burned butter and the overcooked, squishy meat. The covering was hard as stone and refused to surrender to human teeth.

“I'm so happy.” Viktor clutched at his stomach, trying hard to control the erupting wave of laughter. “I can now proudly say, we got _this_ ,” he raised the piece of Piroshok like a trophy, “... to compete with my infamous french toasts. Good job, bro.”

Yuri threw his Piroshok at Viktor’s head, joining their chuckling when it hit square.

They were so happy and together. He wished that Viktor’s soulmate would fit into their family equation like the missing piece of a puzzle.

  


******

  


The rest of the day was surprisingly pleasant, because Yuri did nothing and dozed off in his bed till the clock struck six. It was almost time to get ready for their dinner.

Viktor had booked some fancy restaurant where the food was expensive more for the lavish ambience than for it’s taste. It’d been awhile since Otabek had introduced him to the heaven of roadside kiosks. At a first glance, they’d looked filthy but eventually with Otabek’s persuasion the simple thought of the delicious food on offer now made his mouth water.

As soon as they stepped outside Viktor’s car, they were surrounded by a crowd of ever-enthusiastic fans. Some wanted his autograph, which was alright, but others wanted selfies to post online. Yuri hated seeing his grumpy face all over the internet. He loved _Yuri’s Angels_ , that was what they were calling themselves. They certainly didn’t feel like angels when they screamed his name in his ear and tried to pull the locks of his hair. Those fifteen minutes were pure torture when his stomach was grumbling with dire hunger.

Viktor was facing the same situation, but he was definitely handling it better than Yuri. He winked at their cameras and shook hands with his smooth grace and no one dared to touch his hair. God, Yuri still had so much to learn from his brother.

 _“Look, it’s Otabek Altin!”_ Someone shrieked and Yuri twisted his neck like a fangirl, so fast that he almost got whiplash.

His eyes landed on the elder boy who was wearing a tight white Henley which showed off his silver locket, that was resting against his broad chest, nicely. He looked rather handsome in his grey jacket with the usual black scarf around his neck, but it could be easily replaced by one of those cheetah print scarves which Yuri adored. He was actually planning to give one to Otabek on his birthday or something.

“Otabek…” Yuri waved at him, dragging the man’s attention away from his fans.

“Yuri?” The surprise in his voice was evident and Yuri wondered if he'd somehow forgotten to tell him about the dinner plans. Strange, because the amount of time they were spending together chatting was _ridiculous_.  

“What are you doing here?” Otabek walked upto him, his lips twitched in a light smile. Yuri’s smile widened in response.

“Yuri, c’mon in,” his grandfather called at the same time and Yuri realized he was still standing at the restaurant’s entrance, grinning at Otabek like a fool, while the poor doorman was still holding the door open for him.

“Grandpa,” Yuri tugged at Otabek’s jacket sleeve, dragging him along inside, ignoring whatever he was trying to say in protest. “This is Otabek.” They stopped right in front of his grandfather.

“Oh, Otabek,” His grandpa’s face softened with recognition. “I'm glad we met, finally. Yuri talks about you all the time.”

Yuri coughed, in a futile attempt to hide the way his cheeks were burning. He didn't miss Otabek shoot him a surprised glance as he shook hands with his grandfather.

“Are you here for dinner?” Yuri tried to change the topic.

Otabek looked around. He was waiting for someone. “It's my roommate’s birthday. Phichit’s… y’know him, right?”

Of course Yuri knew Phichit, a short, friendly guy who was always around Katsudon for some reason.

“Hey Otabek. Oh- _Hello Yurio_...”

When Yuri turned around, he almost fainted.

Speak of the devil and he was right there. Alive; in flesh and blood.

“Katsudon?!” His overwhelmed cry made everyone jump.

And then there were rounds of introductions and birthday wishes and handshakes. And of course, Viktor appeared out of thin air and paused in his tracks as he checked out Katsudon’s face for a whole minute like he was the light of his life.

It was gross.

“This is great,” his grandfather said delightfully, patting the back of the birthday boy. “Maybe you can join us for dinner.”

“No!” Yuri screeched the exact same time when Viktor shouted “Yes!”

And everyone was glaring at Yuri and he should probably say something. Anything.

“I mean, yes of course… yes you can. Yes _of course_ you can.” He started rambling. “Happ-y birthday Phichit.” He spread his lips, forcing his best possible smile from ear to ear. The way Otabek’s eyebrows were creased deep, he knew it definitely wasn't working.

They all settled on the same table. Thankfully, the topic of discussion wasn't skating. His grandpa was busy initiating friendly small talk with Otabek and Phichit. It felt equally frustrating and satisfying when they bonded over Yuri’s Pirozhki-mishap story from that morning.

Viktor and Katsudon were busy ogling each other across the table. Simple brushes of hands while passing the food bowls left them blushing like teenagers.

And Yuri was busy shooting them death glares. If this was what soulmates behaved like when they met, he never wanted to meet his soulmate.

Five minutes into the conversation and Viktor was openly flirting with Katsudon. It all started with one cheesy pick up line.

“You look familiar,” Viktor rested his elbow on the table, cupping his cheek and Katsudon followed his actions, like some invisible thread was pulling him, like it was second nature to copy Viktor. He leaned on the table as well, looking deep into Viktor’s eyes. God, they both had forgotten they were sitting in a room full of fucking people. “Didn't we take a class together?” Viktor continued in a soft murmur. “I could've sworn we had _chemistry_.”

 _What?!_ Yuri facepalmed, screaming internally as he watched Katsudon duck his head, shying away slightly. Ugh, they both were pathetic.

Viktor didn't stop there. Something had gotten into him - probably the voodoo of the soumates shit - he was in his full flirty element.

“You're so cute. It's distracting.”

Yuri looked at Katsudon who had his cheeks bulging with stuffed cheese balls. He was blinking at Viktor, eyes wide, as if he was having a hard time believing what was happening. So was Yuri.

“I think Something's wrong with my eyes, because… I can't take them off you.”

_Bro, please. Stop._

Katsudon was smiling, awkward and sheepish. Yuri could literally smell their arousal erupting from both sides of the table, polluting the cool air of the restaurant and Yuri wanted to puke.

“Hey, there’s something on your lips,” Viktor paused between his bites and leaned forward, grabbing a tissue in the process. He raised his hand like it was the most normal thing to do when you spotted a stranger with tomato ketchup stuck around the corner of their lips. And, Holy shit, Viktor was reaching for Katsudon’s face and fucking Katsudon was turning deeper shade of pink, squirming in his seat. It was embarrassing.

That was it.

Yuri batted his raised hand, tossing the tissue paper out of Viktor’s grip. It landed in Otabek’s soup. Perfect.

“Oops, sorry,” Yuri mumbled an apology, looking as genuine as he could. “There was something on Viktor’s hand,” he tried to explain, swallowing hard when Otabek shot him a sharp unconvinced glare.

At least, his damn black scarf was ruined by the spray from his soup and Yuri had an excuse to get him a new one. Other than that, his life was completely fucked up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a photo-set for this story. I hope you like it.

****

****Yuri hated Mondays.

His body was slack from the lazy routine of the previous day and the mental pressure of last night's dinner. Whoa, Yuri didn't want to think about it so early in the day. Yuri couldn't handle both - the pressure of opening his eyes when the clock had barely hit 5am and the pressure of his fight against the Universe. After all, he was only a teenager with some high profile dreams like winning a gold in the Senior Grand Prix Final on his damn debut.

He crawled out of his bed and proceeded to finish his morning routine. He shot a jealous glance at Dima who was carelessly sprawling on his bed. He would give his kidneys, both of them, to be born as _Yuri’s_ _cat_ , because he treated his cat like a princess. It must feel nice to lie about on any available cozy surface and get spoiled and eat the whole day.

Fifteen minutes later he stepped out of his apartment. From as far as he could recollect, his life felt like clockwork, definite and pre-planned… repetitive. He always knew what he was supposed to be doing every hour, hell even every minute of the day. He had always been set out by someone.

In a way, it felt nice to have a goal in life, to know exactly what you were striving for. He’d got a fucking legend sitting at home who he'd grown-up watching and copying and adoring. He'd been compared to Viktor since he was like - eight.

He loved it.

Only sometimes he wondered how it’d feel not to get up at ass o’clock every damn morning, or not have to choose between after school hangouts and the practice rink, or to spend a summer without worrying about cracking his bones or to grab an ice cream without thinking twice, or not have to force the healthy tasteless diet down his throat every single day. He wondered. Sometimes.

A cool early morning breeze raised goosebumps on his skin. He pulled his hoodie over his head, dragging the zip up all the way to his chin. He fell into the steady rhythm of his footfalls which echoed in the quiet surroundings. He enjoyed his lonely jog till he reached the path around the lake.

Katsudon was already there. Jeez.

“Hey Yurio,” he greeted Yuri as he jogged towards him. “Good morning.” He was flushed and sweating, looking as if he’d been exercising already for a good hour. And God, Yuri thought he was early.

Katsudon was hardworking, Yuri had no doubts about that. He never missed practice. He was always the last one to leave the rink. The only other person who Yuri had seen this serious and crazy was - Viktor.

“Yeah, whatever… Good morning,” Yuri scowled at him, already turning away to avoid running with him.

“It's a beautiful place. Nice for early morning runs, eh?”

So now Katsudon was planning to hijack his daily jogging route. Great. “Does your morning usually start _this_ early...” Yuri smirked with the memory of the night before, “... or are you still trying to burn off your cheese balls?”

Katsudon huffed out a snort, falling into step as he jogged alongside Yuri. “Both, actually,” he confessed. “I put on weight pretty easily.”

“Don't make it a habit.” Yuri snapped at him, increasing his pace to run two steps ahead. Whether he meant eating cheese balls for dinner or jogging together like this, shoulder to shoulder, he wasn't sure. Katsudon easily kept up him.

After a few determined minutes, Yuri gave up attempts of changing his route. A casual talk coursed between them where Katsudon handled the talking part and Yuri ignored him openly. Yuri wasn't going to volunteer any conversation which would inevitably become about Viktor, because he knew all the conversations which started with Yuri and skating, always led to Viktor eventually.

Katsudon talked about Katsudon - the pork cutlet bowls - and his family and their hot spring resort where people bathe together. Naked. He rambled about many people, but it majorly involved - Minako, Yuuko, Takeshi, their bratty triplet daughters, the fisherman who wished him _hello_ during his runs, the sea shore of Hasetsu, the bench under the cherry tree, the steps of Ice Castle - basically, the whole of Japan. He was quickly getting homesick and Yuri was minutes away from pulling his hair.

But he continued. It felt nice to have someone to challenge, someone along side him with great stamina, forcing him to push his limits and try harder. Yuri had already surpassed his usual time and they were still running.

Katsudon stopped near the narrow alley on their way back home.

“What?” Yuri asked, his eyebrow raised in question, chest heaving as he gulped in the thick air.

“Come, join me,” Katsudon shot over his shoulder, entering the quiet alley without waiting for Yuri’s reply, so sure that Yuri would follow him.

Yuri let out an exasperated sound, watching his retreating back. He struggled for a moment, calculating the safety of entering an unknown alley, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to follow.

He was greeted by a high-pitched bark. The next moment, a little dark-brown dog came trotting down the alley. A street dog. He looked weak and a bit wobbly on his feet. Katsudon dropped to his knee, putting out his hand. “C’m here boy.”

Yuri blinked at them, completely taken aback. He watched as Katsudon took the dog’s thin paws in one hand and patted on his head with his free hand, cooing some obscure words as he pampered him.

“Have you got him checked?” Yuri’s question attracted the dog’s attention and suddenly he bustled towards Yuri, wagging his tail.

“I think he likes you,” Katsudon teased him with a smile. He unzipped his backpack and snuck out a bowl from it. “I took him to a vet. He said he’s good, just weak.”

Yuri hummed as the dog nuzzled at his shoes for a moment, sniffing him, and curled right next to his feet. It was pretty much what Dima did on a daily basis and was enough to melt his heart into a puddle.

He crouched down, snatching the water bottle from Katsudon’s hand. “Gimme that, piggy.” He proceeded to fill the bowl for the dog. Katsudon had also packed some meatballs, which was indeed impressive. “So are you a dog person?” Yuri asked as he watched the dog lick Katsudon’s fingers clean and the man flopped down on his ass, chuckling like a child.

“Yep,” he agreed, without wasting a breath.

Yuri rolled his eyes. At least, Katsudon had _something_ in common with his soulmate. Makkachin was always at Viktor’s sight.

“I’ve a poodle at home-” Katsudon continued before the words froze in his mouth. Something flickered over his face which vaguely looked like pain. “Uh, I… _had_ a poodle,” he corrected after a beat, his voice lower than a whisper.

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes snapped to Katsudon’s face as the man ducked his head lower, hiding it. He stroked through the dog’s thin fur, looking lost and sad.

Yuri may not be a dog person, but he could definitely relate to the loss of a favorite pet. “I’m sorry,” the words spilled out of his mouth before he could register them.

 

******

  


Yuri leaned against the low wall of the rink, watching Otabek’s skate blades slicing through the ice. He was mesmerising, the way he twisted his hips, stretching his arms to the tip of his fingers, lines clean, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, a perfect blend of strength and elegance. And, Yuri was lost.

Otabek extended his right foot behind him and then initiated a jump by swinging it forward and around with a wide, scooping motion.

“Quad Salchow,” Yuri gasped, lips twitching into a broad grin. He straightened, holding his breath for an excruciating second, till Otabek landed on his feet. “Sleek!” he cheered, thumping his hand on the hard surface.

“Ain't you supposed to practice your own program?” Yuri yelped at the sudden sound.

It was Mila Babicheva, his rinkmate of years who was a couple of years older but behaved like a typical irritating elder sister. She was worse than Viktor.

“Go away, grandma,” Yuri groaned, he batted her hand away when she tried to ruffle his hair.

“He's good, isn't he?” Yuri turned his head to look at her, eyebrows creased. She leaned against his side, throwing her hand around his shoulder, gripping him in a half hug. Her eyes were skittering as she followed Otabek’s movements, her mouth parted a little in a total awe.

Yuri hated that look.

“Hey, Otabek,” Mila uncurled from Yuri, standing straight. When Yuri twisted his neck, Otabek was sliding towards them, halting right next to her. “The jump was perfect,” Mila enthused before Yuri could open his mouth.

“Oh… thank you,” Otabek muttered, blinking as if he wasn't expecting a compliment. Yuri noticed the tips of his ears turning red and something was twisting deep in Yuri’s gut. He wanted to hit something.

He squared his shoulders and moved in between them, even though Otabek was still on the ice and they were standing outside the rink. He also might have stepped on Mila’s foot, by mistake.

“Let's go, Beka,” He tugged Otabek by his wrist, whisking him away. “Help me with my music,” he declared, ignoring the way Otabek struggled on his skates to keep up with him.

“Woo… Grumpy,” Mila mocked from behind them and Yuri twirled just enough to stick his tongue out at her. He knew he was being a child. Anyway, everyone treated him like one, so be it.

“Hey, hey,” Otabek snatched his hand out of Yuri’s grip. “Wait. Give me a sec.” He dropped down on a nearby bench and started tugging at his laces. Yuri waited for him, tapping his shoes against the floor. When he’d freed his feet from the skates, Otabek snapped his head up, his deep brown eyes piercing Yuri’s soul. “What’s up with you, Yura?”

The question caught Yuri off guard, so did the use of his nick name. He swallowed, flicking his eyes away somewhere behind Otabek’s shoulder. “Nothing,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, it’s just Mila… being her usual irritating self-”

“I’m not talking about Mila,” Otabek cut him off, pausing there till Yuri finally met his gaze. He let out a sigh, hard lines of his face softening in a moment. “You’ve been acting different lately. Is something bothering you?”

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat. He stood there, frozen, gaping at Otabek’s face like an idiot. “What?” he croaked.

“It’s about Viktor, right?”

“No!” Yuri exclaimed, taking a step back, fidgeting on the spot as if he’d been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “Everything’s fine. Viktor’s fine. _I’m fine._ Perfect.” He flailed his hands everywhere for extra effect.

Otabek shot him a hard glare. “Okay,” he nodded, but the clench of his jaw told Yuri that he wasn’t going to be convinced so easily.

Yuri was doomed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> * Comments/Kudos are gold!! They keeps motivating me to write more  
> * I am on tumblr - [PencilTrash](http://PencilTrash.tumblr.com), where you can get fic updates.


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